Frozen Interlude
by Jade II
Summary: Written for dmhgficexchange on LJ: Hermione’s life takes an interesting turn when she’s sent to teach at Durmstrang. WARNING for canon compliancy...
1. Chapter 1

Hermione buried her face in her pillow, trying desperately to stop crying.

It was over. It was… should she have… maybe it…?

It had gone something like this:

"Are you saying you don't love me?"

"No, Ron, that's not at all what I—"

"Then why don't you want to get married?"

"I just don't see why we need to _rush_ things like—"

"We've been together for nearly four years, Hermione! I don't understand how that's rushing it! My parents got married right after they left Hogwarts, you know."

"I don't see why that means that we have to—"

"And Harry and Ginny are getting married."

"Is that what this is about? You don't want your younger sister to be married before you?"

"_No_. Merlin. Look, we've talked about this - getting married and having kids - and now all of a sudden you're saying you don't want to! I just don't _understand_."

"Ron. I love you. I want to marry you and have children. But not until I've got a life of my own, until I've grown up and worked out who I am. I'm only twenty-two. I need some time for myself before I devote it all to starting a family."

"Time for yourself."

"Yes."

"…Fine. Have it. I'll leave you alone, then."

"Ron…"

"No. It's fine. Obviously we're just… not compatible. Let's just leave it at that, shall we? End it now before we have any more… misunderstandings. Goodbye."

"Ron!"

…But he'd gone, slamming the door behind him.

Hermione sobbed into her damp pillow again at the memory. How had that happened? She loved Ron; he loved her, and it had all just… blown up in their faces. Just like that.

She had to find a way to fix it…

The alarm clock rang.

…after work.

She wouldn't normally have put work first, but she was only a week into her new job at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and there was rather a lot going on. Besides, Ron was probably still asleep. He didn't have to be behind the counter at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes until nine o'clock.

She would go and see him after lunch, Hermione decided, and try to sort this whole mess out.

Right now, she needed to get to the office.

"Ah, Miss Granger! Excellent. Just the person I want to see," said Constantine Flavius, Head of Magical Law Enforcement and Hermione's new boss. The tall, fair-haired and slightly wrinkled man turned from a conversation with a group of Hermione's fellow employees and grinned at her as she stepped into the office.

Hermione forced herself to stop thinking about Ron and smile back. "Oh? What for, Mr. Flavius?"

"Come, come…" He beckoned her towards the far end of the room, where she had recently been given a desk, and reached for a blood-red folder someone had left on it. Sitting on the desk, he handed it to her with a flourish. "I have an assignment for you," he said, still grinning. Hermione was starting to find that grin unsettling.

Opening the folder, she leafed through the contents. Each sheet showed the name, photograph and short profile of a witch or wizard. Hermione looked up questioningly.

"The first batch of prisoners is being released from Azkaban as we speak," her boss explained. "Each of them has been ordered to report here for an interview later today. You," he said, his grin widening still further, "will be conducting these interviews."

"Me?" Hermione was quite taken aback. "But I've only been working here for a week!"

"Precisely." Flavius' eyes twinkled. "I always say it's best to throw a new recruit in at the deep end. Besides, the rest of us are busy with this wave of thefts we've been having, and really, these prisoners are hardly likely to be dangerous; after all, they're the ones who got off lightly. Nevertheless," and here his tone grew serious, "I want you to make it absolutely clear to all of them that we will be watching them. If they put so much as a toe out of line, we will know about it." He grinned again. "Keeping an eye on them will be your next task, as a matter of fact."

"…Right." Hermione was too stunned to say anything else. Wasn't this rather a lot of responsibility to be giving to someone who'd been working there for less than a fortnight?

"There are forms at the back of that folder for you to fill in during each interview. Those will tell you what questions to ask. I believe your first interview is at eleven o'clock. You may wish to prepare by looking at the prisoners' detailed files, which I believe you will find in the Department of Magical Records. You will have the use of an office on the third floor in which to conduct the interviews."

Mr. Flavius grinned once again and hurried off to distribute tasks to other unsuspecting employees.

Hermione sat down at her desk and looked through the folder again. It contained information on just over a dozen witches and wizards, most of whom Hermione recognised at least by name if not from their photographs. In the year following the end of the war, the _Daily Prophet_ had been full of reports on trials, verdicts and sentences, and Hermione had tried her best to stay informed. As far as she could tell, most of the trials had been fair, though of course there were a couple whose verdicts had surprised or annoyed her. Still, nothing terribly bad had happened in the intervening years, so she supposed the end result had been satisfactory.

The questions on the forms she had to fill out seemed straightforward, she was glad to see. Perhaps this wouldn't be so difficult after all. She looked at the schedule. Start at 11am, right…

…Ah.

She'd only been allotted half an hour for lunch.

Factor in time to get there and back, then time to make sure she was ready for the next interview when it was supposed to begin, and she would have all of ten minutes to talk to Ron, at least three of which would probably be spent convincing him that he actually wanted to have a conversation with her.

Seven minutes was cutting it a bit fine for the resolution of an argument like the one they'd had last night.

Probably best not to try, then.

She could go now… but no, she really did need to prepare before she conducted these interviews.

Hermione sighed. Ron was going to have to wait until the evening.

Her first interviewee was a middle-aged wizard named Ichabod Graf, who had been serving time for letting Death Eaters use his country house as a base of operations.

Hermione took an instant dislike to him. Mostly because he seemed to take an instant liking to her.

"So you're Harry Potter's Mudblood, are you? I don't believe it. You're _far_ too nice to be a Mudblood." He leaned forward over the table and leered at her.

"Mr. Graf," Hermione said firmly, trying not to squirm in her seat. "Please can we concentrate on the questions?"

"Oh, there are things of yours I'd like to concentrate on much more than your questions, m'dear…"

"Nevertheless, I must insist."

Mr Graf grinned. "Anything for you, love."

"Right." Hermione glared at him over her paperwork, trying to make sure he got the message that she was not at all interested, thank you very much… "Now, do you have somewhere to stay?"

"I do think I've still got that house they say I hid those Death Eaters in. It's a very nice house, assuming the House Elves have been keeping it tidy. You're welcome to come and stay any time you want…"

Probably best to ignore that, Hermione thought. "Do you have the means to support yourself financially?"

"Oh, I should think so. I'm quite well off, you know." He grinned.

"And what are your plans for the immediate future?" Hermione ploughed on.

Graf's grin widened as he leaned forward, and Hermione recoiled as she felt his hand on her thigh. "Right, thank you, that'll be all," she said quickly, jumping to her feet and glancing at the guard stationed by the door, ready to intervene should she ask him to. "Thank you, goodbye now," she said, gesturing at the door.

"Goodbye, my lovely," said Mr Graf, taking a theatrical bow which brought his eyes level with Hermione's chest. "I do hope we meet again."

Hermione waited until he had left and exchanged a relieved glance with the guard.

_Oh, please,_ she thought, _I do hope that was the worst one…_

"And what are your plans for the immediate future?" Hermione asked. This was her penultimate interview. One more and she could go home and fix things with Ron…

Pansy Parkinson, slouched in the chair on the other side of the table, shrugged. "I dunno. Try to find a job, I suppose."

Hermione smiled politely, trying not to let it show how much she still disliked Pansy. Three years in prison didn't seem to have changed her a bit, unlike some of the other people Hermione had met today. She shuddered. Some of them really didn't seem quite… normal anymore. Not that she really knew that they had been normal before, of course.

"Can you be more specific?" she asked Pansy. "What kind of job will you be looking for?"

"Anywhere they'll take an ex-convict like me. I'm probably not going to be the most desireable of employees, am I?"

Hermione made a note on the form in front of her. Almost done… "Right. Miss Parkinson, before you leave I'm required to inform you that your actions will be monitored closely by the Ministry." _By me, more specifically…_ "As long as you don't do anything suspicious or unlawful you won't notice us at all, but if you do… well, you could end up regretting it."

"Is that a threat, Granger?"

"Miss Parkinson, it's a simple statement of fact." Smiling once more, Hermione stood up. "Thank you, you're free to go."

"Good."

And Pansy left.

Only one more to go… and she still had a couple of minutes beforehand. Time enough to go to the drinking fountain and top up her glass.

Nodding to the guard, Hermione stepped out into the corridor.

She almost walked right into Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy!" she said, in a voice a little more high-pitched than she would have liked. "What are you doing here?"

Which, she realised as she looked around, was a stupid question. Narcissa Malfoy was standing just behind him, wringing her hands. Narcissa Malfoy just happened to be Hermione's last interviewee. Her son must have met her when she was released and accompanied her to the Ministry.

"Granger," he drawled. His characteristic tone of voice hadn't changed a bit in the years since Hermione had last seen him. "I take it you're going to be my mother's interrogator?"

"This isn't an interrogation," Hermione tried to explain. "It's only an interview."

"In my experience, those are just two words for the same thing." Malfoy glanced at his mother. "Well. Shall we?" He led Narcissa into the office.

Hermione started to protest, then decided against it. After all, the sooner she started the interview, the sooner it would be over.

Narcissa Malfoy took her place in the chair in front of the table and her son sat down in a spare seat in the corner. Hermione took her own seat and sought out the appropriate form.

"You will allow my son to stay with me, won't you Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked up. She hadn't really thought about it. But she didn't want to prolong the interview by causing a fuss, so she nodded. "Yes, that's fine." She looked at Malfoy. "As long as he doesn't try to answer the questions for you."

Both Malfoys seemed to find this arrangement agreeable, so Hermione began.

"Mrs Malfoy, do you believe yourself to be rehabilitated?"

Narcissa glanced sideways at her son. "Oh, yes. Absolutely."

"Do you regret the actions which led to your imprisonment?"

"Of course."

"Are you planning to contact any other ex-convicts now that you've been released?"

"I don't see why I would. Most of the ones who were my friends and family are dead." She glared at Hermione, as if she were somehow personally responsible for this situation.

Hermione did her best to remain professional "Do you have somewhere to stay?" she asked.

Narcissa smiled, though Hermione doubted there was any mirth behind it. "I've got all of Malfoy Manor to myself, my dear. I think it will meet my needs."

_To yourself? What about Draco? _Hermione stole a look at the Malfoy in question, but his face was impassive. "Do you have the means to support yourself financially?" she said, turning back to Narcissa.

"Of course. What kind of a question is that to ask someone who's just told you they own a manor?"

"It's on the form, Mrs Malfoy; I have to ask it. What are your plans for the immediate future?"

"To go home and live the rest of my life in peace."

"Can you be more specific?"

Narcissa looked at her coldly. "No."

Hermione decided not to press for further details. "All right. In that case, Mrs Malfoy, all that remains is for me to warn you that the Ministry will be keeping an eye on you to make sure you're not engaging in any criminal activities, and to bid you goodbye." She stood.

The Malfoys got to their feet as well. Narcissa headed for the door without a word, so Hermione turned to Draco. "See?" she said. "It wasn't that bad."

Malfoy nodded. "You're quite a skilled interrogator, Granger. Well done." It was very difficult to tell by his tone of voice what exactly he meant by this. "Goodbye." And he followed his mother out.

Hermione gathered the paperwork from the desk and headed downstairs to get it all filed away properly. So… Draco Malfoy. She hadn't seen him since before his trial, where he'd been found not guilty of all charges. Ron had been livid, but Hermione hadn't really minded him being given a second chance. After all, perhaps without his parents breathing down his neck he might actually turn out alright…

However, judging from his behaviour today he was still quite vile.

And now… home. No, strike that, not home – she would go straight to Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes.

Grabbing her coat, Hermione ran downstairs and Disapparated.

Apparating outside the shop in Diagon Alley, Hermione was confused to see the Closed sign already up in the window. Still, the lights were on and she could just hear voices from within, so she pushed open the door and went inside.

George and Ginny were deep in conversation at the counter, but they both looked up when she entered.

"Hello," Hermione said brightly, glad to finally be here and able to do something about the mess she had left things in. "Where's Ron?"

The expressions on the two siblings' faces changed to something Hermione couldn't help but think of as ominous. "What's the matter?" she asked slowly.

Ginny bit her lip. "He told us what happened," she said.

"Oh." Well, that would explain the uncomfortable expressions… "I need to talk to him."

George winced, and walked towards her from behind the counter. "That's just it. You can't."

Hermione blinked. "I… don't understand."

"You see, he's sort of… left the country."

Hermione really wasn't sure what it was exactly that this made her feel, but she didn't like it. "What?"

Ginny stepped forward. "He told us what you said, and we were trying to get him to understand what you were telling him, and… he sort of decided that if you were going to go off and find yourself he'd better go away too. So he's gone to America, to promote the shop there. Um. He wouldn't tell us exactly where he was going. Or how long for. And he said you weren't to come looking for him."

Suddenly feeling faint, Hermione leaned against the counter to steady herself. "Oh my God."

"I'm sure he'll be back soon!" Ginny said desperately.

"How could he be so… so—"

"Moronic?" suggested George.

"So _dense!_ It was just a stupid argument, I never meant that I didn't want to be with him! I wasn't going to go anywhere! Oh, God…"

George produced a small stool from behind the counter and set it down just before Hermione would have otherwise collapsed on the floor. "What do I do now?" she moaned as Ginny knelt down next to her.

"You wait for him to come back," said George. "He will, he's not _that_ dense." He paused and then added, "I hope."


	2. Chapter 2

It was three weeks later, and Hermione had had no word from Ron. George had received an owl saying that the Americans seemed really receptive to their products, Ginny had got one assuring her that he was okay and asking if she and Harry had set a date for the wedding yet, and Hermione had received... nothing.

She hated it when Ron took things too far like this. He was so stubborn, and so quick to take things the wrong way, and she wished he would just come back so they could sort this stupid mess out and get on with their lives...

But it didn't appear as though that was going to happen anytime soon.

Thankfully, work was providing a nice, time-consuming distraction. If Mr Flavius had expected the newly released prisoners to settle quietly back into normal life, he was sorely mistaken. One of them had already been arrested for Muggle-baiting, and there was a small group of them Hermione was _sure_ were up to something… if only she could work out _what_…

And Ichabod Graf had recently been appointed the new Headmaster of the Durmstrang Institute. This was due - as far as Hermione could tell - to some old friends who owed him rather big favours as opposed to his actual suitability for the post. Apparently there had been quite a nasty accident which had killed the previous headmaster and several other teachers while they were judging a dueling contest.

Hermione was rather concerned as to how she was supposed to keep tabs on Mr Graf if he was in another country – especially since she didn't even know which _one_. At least with Ron she knew he was in America…

Pushing thoughts of Ron out of her head again, Hermione stared at the paperwork she had lying on her desk. There was definitely something suspicious going on. Pansy Parkinson, for instance, had already been seen with four different recently released prisoners, though never with more than one at the same time. These four had also been spotted talking to each other, also never more than two at once, as well as with other people Magical Law Enforcement liked to keep an eye on. What was irritating Hermione was that she couldn't work out _what_ was going on.

Of course, some of the prisoners had gone home and appeared to be quietly attempting to lead normal lives. Hermione had been particularly surprised to learn that Narcissa Malfoy had begun paying regular visits to her sister Andromeda and great-nephew Teddy Lupin – try as she might to see something sinister in this, Hermione was forced to conclude that the visits were a sincere effort on Narcissa's part to reconcile her estranged family. Perhaps with her husband still in prison and her son seemingly having disappeared again, she simply wanted the company of someone familiar.

Hermione did wonder where Malfoy had disappeared _to_. According to her various detection spells, he had stayed with his mother for two days and then vanished again, and there was no sign of him in any of the usual wizarding haunts. Perhaps he'd gone to America like Ron… a lot of Voldemort's sympathizers had left the country after the war. She supposed staying where everyone knew they had been rooting for the losing side was too embarrassing for them.

"Miss Granger!" Mr Flavius' loud voice carried across the room as he strode towards her desk. "Take a look at this," he said, handing her a newspaper.

It was that day's _Daily Prophet_, and Pansy Parkinson's smug face was staring at Hermione from a small photograph on the open page. The accompanying article read:

_**Durmstrang Recruits another Teacher from England**_

_The Durmstrang Institute, which recently suffered a terrible accident involving the deaths of several teachers (as reported by __the_ Daily Prophet_), has given the free post of Professor of Charms to Pansy Parkinson, a witch recently freed from Azkaban. This occurs a mere two weeks after another recently released prisoner, Ichabod Graf, was appointed headmaster of the Institute. Is a new dark power gathering forces in Eastern Europe? See tomorrow's edition of __the_ Daily Prophet_ for a set of exclusive articles._

"I have an unexpected and awful suspicion," said Mr Flavius, "that they may be right. Graf, Parkinson, the Malfoy boy… if this is all coincidence I will eat my tall pointy hat."

_Hang on_, Hermione thought… "The Malfoy boy?" she asked.

"Oh yes," Flavius replied. "He's been teaching there for over three years now. History of Magic, I believe. Surely that was in your files?"

"I… must've missed it," Hermione replied. _So that's where he's been…_

Flavius waved a hand. "No matter. Anyway, in view of these suspicious activities," he said, flashing her one of his trademark grins, "I am reassigning you."

Hermione felt a rather unpleasant sense of foreboding.

"You," her boss continued, pointing at her with a long, inexpertly manicured finger, "will be taking up the vacant post of Professor of Arithmancy at Durmstrang. I've taken the liberty of sending off an application for you, which has already been accepted – it appears Headmaster Graf was quite eager to have you under his employ. Seems he took a shine to you. Now, we of course have no legal jurisdiction at Durmstrang, so as far as they are concerned you have abruptly decided to leave England and start a new life abroad. I understand your young man has recently left you, perhaps we could say that was your motivation?" Hermione didn't have time to protest before he continued, "Now, the language of instruction at Durmstrang is Russian, do you speak any?"

"I… a little," Hermione replied. This was all much too sudden. "Um, I had a penpal at Durmstrang when I was at school."

"Excellent. Well, I've taken the liberty of signing you up for an intensive refresher course. That will take two weeks, after which you will travel to Durmstrang and take up your post. Now, I should warn you," he said, turning to face her properly, "Although the fact that you're Muggleborn doesn't seem to have mattered to Mr Graf in giving you the post, the old prejudices are still alive and well at Durmstrang. You will not be universally accepted."

Hermione nodded. "I understand."

"Right. In that case, here is all the information you should need on your assignment. It will be up to you to find out exactly what dark developments are afoot." Flavius smiled and handed her a large file. "Miss Granger, I wish you good luck."

"You _what?_" said Ginny.

"I'm going to Durmstrang," Hermione repeated gloomily.

She had invited Ginny round for dinner in the hopes that her friend would have something helpful to say, but she had a feeling that this wasn't going to be the case.

"Listen," Hermione said, "you mustn't tell anyone I'm going on behalf of the Ministry. As far as everyone else is concerned, I've decided to go off and get over Ron and have an adventure in a foreign country."

"You don't even want me to tell Ron?" asked Ginny.

"_Especially_ not Ron. Maybe if he thinks I've gone off to try and forget about him he'll decide to talk to me again." She sighed. "Are you sure you can't tell me where he is?"

"America," said Ginny. "That's all I know, Hermione."

"I sent him an owl last week, you know. He sent it back without opening the envelope."

Ginny looked at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry my brother's such an idiot, Hermione. He'll realise he's being stupid eventually; he always does."

"I hope so. I just wish it would be _soon_." Hermione let out another sigh. "I really miss him, you know."

"I know." Ginny reached over to squeeze her arm, then raised her glass. "In the meantime, here's to adventures at Durmstrang, right?"

Hermione managed a smile. "Right." They clinked glasses. "Adventures at Durmstrang."

Two weeks later, Durmstrang had sent her a Portkey.

And Ron had sent her an owl.

Unfortunately, the first occurrence was a far happier one than the second.

Ron had found someone else. Someone with whom he felt "_far more comfortable than I ever did with you._"

So that was it. They had officially broken up.

And the Portkey to Durmstrang was set to activate in three minutes.

Hermione blew her nose again and stared at the letter. What should she do with it? Take it with her? No… that would be too pathetic. But she couldn't leave it here in the flat – she was renting it out while she was away and she wouldn't want the tenants to find it…

…She would burn it, she decided. Decision made, she took out her wand.

"_Incendio!_"

The paper caught fire immediately, and she threw it onto the empty fireplace before she burned her fingers. Watching it smoulder, she felt tears burning in her eyes again. She dabbed at them with her already soaked handkerchief and looked at the clock on the wall.

One minute to go.

Taking her suitcase in one hand, she stuffed the handkerchief in a pocket and picked up the Portkey in the other. It was a key, large and ornately decorated. How appropriate, Hermione mused…

The Portkey was activated, and she was pulled across space.

When she got her bearings, Hermione found herself in a cold, snow-covered courtyard. She was surrounded on three sides by the tall, stone sides of a building. The fourth side was blocked off from the world outside by huge iron gates, into which the words _ДУРМСТРАНГ ИНСТИТУТ_ had been worked with painstaking attention to detail.

In front of these gates, a blond figure waited.

"Malfoy," she greeted him guardedly.

"Granger!" He grinned his trademark Malfoy grin. "Welcome to Durmstrang."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you."

Malfoy strode towards her, his footsteps crunching on the snow. "Follow me." He started to walk, then looked back. "You can keep the key; it's the key to your room." He set off again, and Hermione followed.

"So, you've suddenly decided to abandon your job at the Ministry and come here to the middle of nowhere instead, have you?" Malfoy said in a suspiciously conversational tone.

"In a nutshell, yes," Hermione replied, hoping her cover hadn't been blown before she even arrived.

"That's a very… interesting choice," Malfoy continued. "Still, I suppose it's a good way to get away from the Weasel." He turned to look at her. "Rumour has it that you are no longer the inseparable unit you once were."

Hermione suddenly wondered if he could tell that she had been crying. "That's none of your business, Malfoy," she replied coldly.

He grinned. "So, you've finally seen the light. Well done." He turned to look at her. "And I think you'll soon find, Granger, that here at Durmstrang there is a firm belief that everything is everyone else's business. It's sometimes unfortunate, but it's true." Turning away again, Malfoy quickened his pace.

At the end of the courtyard opposite the gates stood a set of large wooden double doors reminiscent of Hogwarts' main entrance, but Malfoy wasn't heading in that direction. Instead he veered to the left and opened a smaller door, beyond which was a short corridor and a narrow stone staircase, which they proceeded to climb. It was a long, straight staircase; instead of turning back on itself at each landing there was simply a longer step, just long enough for a door to open onto, for each floor before the stairs continued upwards. Hermione followed Malfoy all the way to the top, where the staircase stopped at the end of a wider corridor which was decorated with expensive-looking paintings and lit by large torches. About halfway along this corridor they stopped in front of a door.

"This is your room," Malfoy declared. He looked pointedly at the key Hermione still held in her hand.

Stepping forward, Hermione inserted it into the aged lock. It turned easily, to her surprise, and she grasped the handle and opened the door.

The room beyond was larger than she had expected, and unexpectedly cosy-looking after the barren stone of the rest of the castle. There was a large, thick rug on the floor, and a fire had been lit in the fireplace. The furniture was made of well-varnished wood, and the light, unlike the torches in the corridor, came from several ornate oil lamps.

"The bathroom's though that door there," Malfoy said, following her in. "And my room's right next door, so please don't irritate me by playing loud Muggle music late at night, will you?"

"…Right."

"You've got an office on the second floor somewhere and a classroom on the ground floor. There should be a copy of your timetable on your desk. Supper's at eight o'clock in the main hall downstairs, I'm sure you'll find it." Malfoy paused for a split-second, as if he were about to say something else… but then he shook his head and left without further ado.

Hermione put down her suitcase and surveyed the room.

Well then. Here she was.


	3. Chapter 3

Finding the main hall was a lot more difficult than Malfoy had led her to believe. It took Hermione more than ten minutes of wandering the ground floor of the castle before she finally smelled something which could be food. She followed her nose until the growing noise of chattering students told her she was heading in the right direction. Finally, she caught sight of a large open doorway, through which light, conversation and the smell of food were spilling abundantly into the hallway, and she hurried through it.

The room was smaller than Hogwarts' Great Hall, and contained only three tables; two for the students, who appeared to be separated by gender, and a smaller one at the end of the hall for the staff. Hermione recognised Graf, Pansy and Malfoy and hurried towards them. There was only one free seat at the staff table, and Hermione groaned inwardly when she saw that she would have to sit next to Malfoy. Still, at least Malfoy was less likely to grope her than Graf, who was safely out of reach on the opposite side of the table.

"Ah, Professor Granger!" Headmaster Graf's eyes lit up when he saw her. "You arrive at last. So glad to have you with us, my dear."

"Thank you," Hermione said politely. She looked around the table as she sat down, expecting to be introduced to the other teachers, but Graf stood up and started spooning food onto her plate instead. Taking his seat again, he commanded, "Eat! No doubt your journey has made you ravenous!"

i _My journey which took all of a few seconds, you mean?_ /i Hermione thought. But she smiled and repeated, "Thank you."

The food was plain but hearty fare, and Hermione dug in with as much of an appetite as she could muster. The change in time zones was affecting her, and she kept thinking about Ron...

"So, Granger," said Malfoy. "How's your Russian?"

Hermione looked at him. Was he actually trying to be friendly, or was he baiting her? "Sufficient," she replied. "I presume yours is also?"

"If fluent is sufficient, I suppose. I had a Russian tutor from a very young age, Granger. My father originally wanted me to be schooled here, after all." He grinned at her. "I'm sure I can help you if you get stuck."

"Thank you, but I'm sure I'll be fine. Most of the terms used in Arithmancy are the same in both languages, after all."

"Of course. But I do believe the difficulty lies in knowing which ones aren't."

Hermione jumped as she felt Graf's foot move under the table, but it swept by her legs and connected soundly with one of Malfoy's, who flinched.

"Leave the nice girly alone, Malfoy," Graf chided. He winked at Hermione. "You'll be fine, dear."

Malfoy smirked at this, but another kick from Graf made him sit up and rearrange his features into a more pleasant expression. "Yes," he said. "I'm sure you will."

Not quite daring to ask too many probing questions on her first night as a spy, Hermione contented herself instead with sitting and listening for the rest of the meal. Pansy Parkinson spent the whole time deep in conversation with a rather miserable looking wizard at the other end of the table, while Malfoy made pleasant conversation in Russian with the young witch sitting next to him. Headmaster Graf tried to engage her in conversation from time to time, but Hermione could not bring herself to give more than trite answers to such an unpleasant man. If she really wanted to find out what was going on, of course, she was going to have to be a lot more friendly... Hermione shuddered inwardly at the thought of being 'friendly' with Headmaster Graf. She wouldn't let it get out of hand, she promised herself. It wasn't worth it.

At last the meal was over and Hermione managed to follow Malfoy back up to the third floor without being noticed. She hovered near the top of the staircase until she had seen him go into his room, then tiptoed across the corridor to her own.

Closing the door behind her, she let out a breath. It was hard work trying to keep people from being suspicious of her - though she didn't know how good a job she had done so far. Still, now she could relax...

But her thoughts drifted to Ron, and relaxation was suddenly out of the question.

He'd found someone else! After only a month! She couldn't believe it. A month! After they'd been together for four years!

Suddenly she wished she hadn't burnt the letter, just so she could burn it again.

Hermione paced up and down the carpet, wondering what to do with herself for the rest of the evening. It was only nine o'clock, and her internal clock still thought it was late afternoon. She picked up a book she had unpacked earlier, but couldn't concentrate enough to sit down and enjoy it. She had already drawn up her lesson plan for tomorrow, so she couldn't work on that. Looking at one of the Russian phrasebooks she had brought with her, she considered working on her vocabulary, but in her current state of mind she wasn't likely to absorb very much.

And that was as far as her inventory went of possible things with which to occupy herself.

Hermione strode towards the window and looked out. It was dark already, and all she could see was the reflection on the snow of the lights from the windows. There seemed to be a vast expanse of nothingness surrounding the castle on all sides. A walk was out of the question, then…

...unless, of course, she stayed in the castle.

Hoping she wouldn't meet anyone while she walked off her frustration, Hermione grabbed a scarf and went back out. She would try to find her office and classroom, she decided. That would save time in the morning.

Descending back down to the ground floor, Hermione took her time and looked around as she went. The decorations on the wall were in parts similar to those found at Hogwarts, except that they included rather fewer strange paintings and rather more mounted animal heads. The stone the castle was made of was different, too; the hues were quite similar, yet there was a definite aura of cold in the masonry. Hogwarts had always made Hermione feel safe and warm.

Finding her classroom turned out not to be that difficult; after wandering around on the ground floor for so long earlier, everything was already starting to feel a little familiar. The classroom, which had 'Arithmancy' written on the door in Russian, was much like any other classroom, with desks, chairs and a nice-sized blackboard. There were large windows along one wall, but Hermione couldn't tell what they looked out on. In one corner there were some bookshelves with quite a nice little selection of Arithmancy volumes. Hermione browsed them for a while before deciding to continue her exploration of the castle.

The first floor was where the dormitories were located; Hermione walked along one corridor and then took the next staircase she could find back up to the second floor. Dormitories, she was sure, were much the same everywhere, and teachers, especially new ones, were not likely to be entirely welcome.

The second floor housed all the administrative areas, and along with the teachers' offices Hermione also found the infirmary and the staff room, which was empty. Her own office she discovered at the end of a narrow corridor which ended in a window overlooking the courtyard. It wasn't a large room, but it contained a fair-sized desk and more than one chair, and quite a few as-yet-empty shelves.

Yes, she decided, she could make this space feel more or less like home.

"Granger."

Hermione gasped and spun around – to find Malfoy leaning in the doorway.

"Malfoy," she said accusingly. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard you walk past my office and thought I'd see if you'd found yours all right."

"You heard me? How did you know it was me?"

He shrugged. "I just did. Anyway, I see you found it."

"Yes. I did." Hermione regarded him warily. There was something very... i _unsettling_ /i about the way he was behaving.

"So..." Malfoy said. "Is your room to your satisfaction?"

Right, that was it. She was going to have to confront him.

"Malfoy..." She looked him straight in the eye. " i _Why_ /i are you being i _nice_ /i to me?"

He was silent for so long Hermione thought he wasn't going to answer. He crossed his arms and turned away from her, walking slowly towards the window.

Hermione followed.

"I know why you're here, Granger," he said in a low voice.

He reminded her for one horrible moment of his father, and she felt her spine tingle with unpleasant recollections.

"Oh really?" she replied, sounding as casual as she dared.

He turned swiftly and stared down at her. "Do you honestly think I believe that you just left everything you knew behind and came all the way out here on a whim? Only weeks after you said you said, in a manner which I am sure was meant to leave a lasting impression, that you would be watching my mother's every move? I can only assume you told Graf and Pansy the same thing. And now, no sooner have they arrived here than you turn up hot on their heels. Graf was too excited at the prospect of having another pretty young girl here to be suspicious of you, and Pansy is apparently too annoyed by your presence to think straight, but I'm not. You're here to spy on us, aren't you?"

"I... I don't know what you mean," Hermione stammered.

Malfoy sighed and leaned back against the window, rolling his eyes. "Merlin, please don't play stupid with me. Granger," he said, looking her in the eye, "I want to i _help_ /i you."

"What?" Hermione said. Had he just said what she thought he'd said?

"I. Want. To Help. You. For goodness' sake, Granger, I thought you were meant to be smart?"

Hermione was quite taken aback. Of all the unexpected things which had happened to her lately, this one surely ranked highest. She would have laid money that it was less likely even than Ron ever learning to drive a Muggle car properly.

"I see..." she ventured.

"Good." Malfoy pulled the chair out from behind her desk and straddled it. "Now," he said, resting his chin on his fist. "What are we going to do about this?"

"Hang on, hang on," said Hermione, regaining her wits at least enough to say this much. "We don't even know for certain yet if there i _is_ /i a this."

"There is," Malfoy said shortly. "I'm not sure yet what it is, but something is definitely going on, and it's not good." He paused, as if he were considering his next words carefully. "And I don't want to be stuck in the middle of something like that again." He looked up at her sharply. " i _Ever_ /i ," he declared. It almost sounded like a threat.

"How do you know?" Hermione asked. "For that matter, why should I trust you?"

Malfoy reached into his cloak and pulled out a small bottle. "I thought you might say that," he said, "So I brought some Veritaserum."

Hermione stared. "...Oh," she managed.

Malfoy unscrewed the bottle and raised it to his lips, but Hermione raised a hand to stop him. "Wait," she said. "That's... not necessary."

Malfoy shrugged and resealed the bottle. "If you say so."

"Right." She took a deep breath, forced herself to accept these new circumstances and their strange, sudden new alliance, and nodded. "In that case," she said slowly, "we need to work out what to do next."


	4. Chapter 4

It was not an easy alliance.

Hermione had never felt particularly comfortable in Malfoy's presence, and she got the distinct feeling that he felt the same way around her. She kept looking at him and seeing his seventeen-year-old self, watching as she screamed...

"So basically," Hermione said, shaking her head as if that would dislodge the offending image, "We don't know anything more than we did a week ago."

They were walking together in the cold, white expanse of countryside which formed most of Durmstrang's grounds. The large boulders and standing stones which formed the perimeter encircled a space so extensive that Hermione couldn't see more than half a dozen of the markers at a time. She and Malfoy were making their way along this border, unregarded by the students skating on the frozen lake in the distance.

"I can't exactly go up to Graf and say 'let me in on your evil plan, please,' can I?" Malfoy stopped to bring his heel down on a patch of ice with a satisfying _crack_.

Hermione sighed. "No, I suppose not."

"I'm getting closer, anyway. At least Pansy's talking to me now."

Hermione looked up. "You weren't talking?"

"Pansy was a bit... put out that she got sent to Azkaban when I wasn't." Malfoy grinned. "And she thinks I'm spending too much time with you."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning she seems to think we're having some kind of sordid love affair."

Hermione stared.

"I've sort of been encouraging it, actually," Malfoy went on. "It makes a good cover story, after all." Catching sight of her face, he laughed. "Don't worry, Granger, I know I'm not your type. I'm not ginger enough and I haven't got nearly enough freckles."

The freckles on Ron's shoulders, she recalled, formed the most fascinatingly symmetric shapes...

"Can we talk about something else, please?" Hermione demanded, shaking her head abruptly. She would_ not_ think about Ron.

"Did you have a topic in mind?"

"No, just... not Ron." She walked on swiftly, as if doing so would put more distance between herself and the shadow of Ron which still dogged her. Malfoy followed more slowly, stopping occasionally to crush a piece of ice under his boot.

Eventually she heard the crunching of his footsteps speed up as he hurried to catch up with her.

"What happened between you two, anyway?" he asked. "Ohh—" He paused. "You didn't sleep with Potter, did you?"

"_What?_"

"Well, you three were always so close and cosy-looking at Hogwarts." Grinning, he continued, "There were some people who were convinced you were some kind of romantic trio who performed unspeakable sexual acts in the Gryffindor common room."

"_Malfoy_." She turned and glared at him.

"It's true! We were all quite jealous," he added.

"That's insane!"

"Well, that's what it looked like to us." He held up his hands and, increasing his pace, overtook her. "Obviously we were wrong," he said over his shoulder.

"Obviously." Hermione jogged to keep up with him.

Malfoy paused in his stride. Then he said, "You haven't actually denied it, though."

"Malfoy! Look, I did not sleep with Harry - or anyone else, for that matter. Ron and I broke up because he wanted to get married and have children and I wasn't ready for that, so we had a big argument which ended up with him storming off to America, where he's apparently found someone much more suitable." Hermione stopped and sat down on the boulder they were passing, crossing her arms.

Malfoy stood there for a moment, then sat down next to her.

"I see," he said.

"Not that it's any of your business," Hermione added.

"I thought I explained to you about everything at Durmstrang being everyone else's business?"

"You do realise that if that's really the case we're going to have to be extremely careful."

"I do. Hence my fantastic cover story idea."

"The two of us having some kind of romantic relationship is your idea of a fantastic cover story?"

"What's wrong with it?" Malfoy actually looked mildly offended.

"For starters, no one will believe it for a moment! Apart from Pansy, apparently," Hermione conceded. "But everyone must know we used to hate each other, from my so-called 'blood status,' if nothing else!" Hermione found herself biting her lip before saying the next part. "And I'm still not entirely sure how much I like you now. Or that I quite believe your sudden change of heart towards me, after—"She bit her lip again, cutting herself off.

She felt Malfoy stiffen beside her. She could almost sense the tension in him as he turned towards her. "After I watched my aunt torture you and didn't do anything."

She grimaced. "Malfoy, I'm not—"

"That's what you're getting at, isn't it?"

Hermione was silent. Malfoy looked away again, staring into the distance as he spoke. "You want to know what was going through my head that night? The single thought which kept repeating and repeating over and over? 'I don't want to be here.' That was all I thought for that entire year, really. And I'm sorry if I didn't leap to your rescue or whatever, but I'm not Harry Potter and I couldn't. I just... you were screaming and that just drowned out any other thoughts I might have had anyway. I remember vaguely having the feeling that I ought to be surprised that I cared, because you were just a Mudblood, but I couldn't even muster surprise. Just... 'I don't want to be here.'" He shrugged, then turned on her, suddenly vicious. "And I don't really care if you like me or not, Granger, so I'm not going to apologise. You can hate me to the deepest depths of your soul if you want, as long as you help me stop what's going on here. I don't need anything else from you."

And he got up and strode away, leaving Hermione to watch his retreating figure and wonder whether to feel sorry for him or not.

Hermione wandered back to the castle alone, pulling her long winter coat ever tighter around herself against the increasing cold. Without Malfoy's company to distract her, she found herself suddenly much more aware of the numbness in her fingers and toes and the biting wind on her exposed cheeks. And it was only October. She hoped fervently that she would be back in England before the real winter set in. Viktor had always complained about winters at Durmstrang – poor Viktor, from southern Bulgaria, must have suffered quite a shock the first time he had experienced _this_. Temperatures well below zero were not very common in his part of the world – or hers, Hermione thought, shivering.

Walking past the current students, she fancied she could tell which ones came from warmer climates and which were closer to home. The ones who were making snowballs with their bare hands as opposed to those cowering in some corner out of the wind. The ones whose faces were pink as opposed to those who were turning blue.

She wondered how Malfoy would have fared here, had his parents kept to their original intention and not sent him to Hogwarts. Perhaps he would have been happier, away from the tumult back home... Perhaps so far away from his father's influence he would have been a different person...

Then again, perhaps not.

_He's a different person now, though_, said a voice in the back of her head.

_Only _slightly_ different_, Hermione thought back in protest.

_If you say so_. The voice crossed its arms and looked at her smugly.

Hermione cursed her over-complicated thought processes. She bet other people's inner voices didn't grin at them.

She had reached the castle now, and she ducked into the small passage which led to the courtyard. At least she wasn't getting lost anymore...

"Granger," hissed a voice.

Hermione looked around to find Malfoy beckoning her from a doorway in the side of the passage. As she walked back towards him he put a finger to his lips, then motioned for her to follow.

The doorway opened onto the top of a narrow, badly-lit spiral staircase. Taking Malfoy's lead and tiptoeing after him, Hermione found it quite difficult to keep her balance. The stone steps were steep and covered with ice in some places, and it was difficult to see where exactly these places were. Hermione supported herself by bracing her hands against the cold, damp walls on either side.

The air grew colder and more stale as they descended, and Hermione started to wonder where they were going – and, more importantly, why. What if Malfoy had been caught spying by Graf and his cronies and had been put under the Imperius curse? What if they were making him lead her down here to her doom?

A voice shouted out suddenly from below, and Hermione started. Unfortunately, this made her lose her footing on the slippery steps and she crashed into Malfoy, who cursed under his breath and slipped onto the step below before managing to catch both himself and Hermione.

Hermione was suddenly uncomfortably aware of his hot breath on her cheek.

"Quiet," Malfoy hissed after a strangely elongated pause.

"Sorry."

Carefully, Hermione disentangled herself from Malfoy and brushed herself off, clearing her throat.

"Let's go," Malfoy muttered.

They resumed their descent.

The voices grew louder as they went, and Hermione began to understand snatches of words and phrases as they drew closer.

"We can't..."

"...but who are we going..."

"...won't work if we don't..."

"SILENCE!"

That was Graf's voice. Hermione had never heard him bellow like that before.

There was a dim light visible near the bottom of the stairs now. Graf's voice increased in volume as Hermione and Malfoy crept towards it.

The staircase opened up suddenly into a large, dark, almost cavern-like room. The light was coming from a circle of torches on the other side, within which a dozen or so figures were seated. Graf's voice echoed across the room to where the two silent listeners lurked in the shadows at the top of the stairs. "Now is not the time for doubts and buts and maybes! Now is the time for the final and lasting return of the Dark Lord, and we, my friends, are going to bring it about!"

Hermione gripped Malfoy's arm in response to this statement. He turned and stared at her.

She let go hastily.

"All we need now is a vessel," the Headmaster declared. "Somebody suitable to house the Dark Lord's spirit."

'_Someone'? They're going to put Lord Voldemort in a person?_

Looking across at Malfoy, Hermione saw that he was clenching his jaw so hard that she could make out the delineations of muscles in his cheek.

"What does 'suitable' mean though, exactly?" asked a voice which sounded very much like Pansy Parkinson's.

"A body which the Dark Lord will be proud to inhabit!" cried Graf. "A body which will fulfil all his needs. A body in which he will feel comfortable. The best body it is possible to find!"

There was a pause, and then Pansy said, "What about Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione was never sure afterwards whose fault it was, but one of them moved in reaction to this and in doing so dislodged one of the stones in the ancient staircase they were crouched on. Her stomach lurched as she watched it fall and then hit the floor with a noise which echoed like a bell.

"What was that?" Graf shouted. Hermione scrambled to her feet and started running back up the steps as fast as she could, Malfoy close at her heels. The sound of footsteps running across the chamber below drove her upwards, using the walls for support as much as she could and really wishing the stairs had come with a banister...

Then Malfoy slipped behind her, and she turned around just in time to see him hit his jaw on the edge of a step.

"Whoever you are, you'd better run faster if you want to get away!" shouted a voice from below. The sound of footsteps was getting louder.

Malfoy was having difficulty getting up. "Go," he managed, waving her away.

"Absolutely not!" Hermione took hold of one of his arms and heaved him to his feet. Blood dripped to the floor as she pulled him up the stairs after her, and after a moment a triumphant cry echoed up from below. "One's of them's hurt! Come on!"

Malfoy couldn't climb the stairs so quickly now and the sounds of pursuit were getting closer all the time. Hermione risked a glance back and to her horror saw a booted foot and a flash of a cloak appear around the corner –

"Descendo!" said Malfoy, flourishing his wand, and a cacophony of cries and crashes suddenly sounded out as their pursuers were thrown back down the stairs.

"Come on," he said, drawing himself up and somehow managing to pick up the pace again.

They burst out of the stairwell and into the tunnel dishevelled, out of breath and, in Malfoy's case, bleeding profusely from his chin. Hurrying around a corner, Hermione made Malfoy stop so that they could catch their breath and she could do something about his wound; fresh blood was dripping all over the snow.

"Let me take a look," she commanded, glancing around to make sure no one was watching them.

"We haven't got time for this, Granger," Malfoy growled.

"Yes," she assured him, "We have."

She ignored his hiss of pain as she grabbed his chin and examined the cut. "I don't think you've done any serious damage," she said, pulling out a handkerchief and handing it to him. "Just press this against it so you don't keep bleeding everywhere. I'll take a closer look upstairs."

Malfoy grunted his assent and they hurried across the courtyard, trying to appear inconspicuous to the students who were milling around, before ducking into the doorway and climbing the staircase which would lead them to their rooms. On the first floor they were suddenly confronted with a crowd of excited students running down the stairs in the opposite direction, but none of them took any notice of the two young professors trying to go the other way.

They reached the top floor without further incident.

"In here," Malfoy said, producing the key to his room. "I've got some medical supplies."

Malfoy's room was much like Hermione's own, with the same thick carpet and style of furniture. Unsurprisingly, it looked more lived in, with traces of its occupant apparent everywhere. A Slytherin scarf was hanging over the side of a chair, and the coverings on the unmade bed were the same emerald green. There was a photograph on top of the chest of drawers which showed a younger Malfoy with his parents, dressed in Hogwarts robes and showing off his wand. All three of them were grinning at the camera in their the trademark proud Malfoy fashion.

The boy in the picture looked quite young to be at Hogwarts. It had probably been taken right before he'd left to begin his first year at school.

Malfoy pushed past her to rummage in one of the drawers. He pulled out a wooden box and went to open it on the bed. Hermione followed, not without glancing back at the small scene of family bliss.

"This is quite a supply you've got here," she commented, tugging off her cloak and scarf as she sat down and digging through the contents of the box. She fished out a tube of QuikFix and began to unscrew the lid.

"It's the students," Malfoy said, dabbing at his jaw with Hermione's now rather bloody handkerchief. "We haven't got a school nurse at the moment, and they seem far more accident-prone than I ever remember being."

"Says he who was mauled by a Hippogriff and practically decided to live in the Hospital Wing for a week. Look at me." When Malfoy obeyed she began applying the QuikFix. "This'll hide it at least," she said, "But it'll probably hurt a bit for a while."

"I'm sure I'll survive."

The QuikFix worked its magic and the cut disappeared from sight. Hermione ran a finger along the area where it had been. Malfoy hissed.

"Sorry."

"Yeah. Well. At least we're alive."

"Yes."

They looked at each other.

"Granger," said Malfoy after a moment.

"Yes?"

"You can take your hand off my face now. If you want."

"Oh!" Hermione snatched her hand away quickly, cradling it as if it had been burned. "Sorry."

Malfoy shrugged.

They looked at each other again.

"You can put it back," Malfoy said after a moment. "If you want."

"What?"

"I'm just saying," Malfoy said, "I'm not exactly _adverse_ to your caressing my chin."

"I wasn't... caressing," Hermione protested.

"Oh really?"

Hermione gasped as she suddenly felt Malfoy's fingers trailing across her cheek.

"You were doing something like this," he said calmly.

"That... that does feel sort of like..."

"Caressing?" Malfoy supplied.

"Well... yes," Hermione admitted. "Um."

"Do you want me to stop?" he said, brushing his fingers down her neck and across her collarbone.

"I... don't know," Hermione said truthfully.

Then he kissed her.

It was quite a hesitant kiss at first, as if he were expecting her to curse him all the way to the centre of the Earth and out the other side for even thinking of initiating such an act. Part of Hermione wondered why she didn't, and waved its hand in the back of her mind like an overeager student before a more astute part of her simply thought, _It's just a kiss. I'm not going to object to being kissed. Besides, it's been a long time since I've been kissed as well as this..._

Malfoy grew bolder when he realised that she wasn't going to kill him, and he slipped a hand between the folds of her robes to run his fingers over the fabric of the shirt she wore underneath. Hermione shuddered under his touch.

This... this was going to be more than just kissing, wasn't it, she thought as she felt the side of Malfoy's hand brush across her breast. Was she ready for this? Did she want this?

_I certainly do_, her body informed her unmistakably.

_With Malfoy?_ Hermione asked herself.

_Apparently._

His hands were inside her shirt now, Hermione realised abruptly. Testing the boundaries of the thick vest she was wearing underneath to protect herself from the cold. Any minute now he was going to—

Hermione let out another gasp as Malfoy's cold fingers touched her bare skin. In response to this he used his other hand to unbutton the shirt completely, pushing it over her shoulders and pulling the vest over her head in quick succession.

Malfoy sat back and began to divest himself of his own numerous garments. Hermione shivered as she watched him remove cloak, boots, robes, and the woollen trousers and jumper underneath. Eventually he leaned over her again, naked but for his underwear, and bent down to plant kisses on her stomach as he continued to undress her.

Hermione closed her eyes.

This was really happening. Should this be really happening? They were getting perilously close to the point of no return, and Hermione's heartbeat was quickening every time she felt Malfoy's hot lips touch her skin and then leave a cold patch when he moved away again...

She looked up to find Malfoy looking at her questioningly, his index fingers curled around her underwear at her hips.

What about me? said the little voice in her head that looked like Ron.

You've got Miss More Comfortable, haven't you? Hermione thought back.

The Ron voice pouted.

Malfoy was still looking at her, tracing little circles on her hipbones with his thumbs.

Hermione sat up, and Malfoy held eye contact questioningly.

Reaching behind her, Hermione unhooked her bra and laid it on the bed next to her. Then she closed her eyes and lay back down.

Malfoy inched her underwear down her legs and let the fabric brush along the soles of her feet before dropping it to the floor with his own. She was aware of his fingers trailing along her thighs to part her legs, of the heat of his body close to hers and the friction of skin on skin as he moved ever closer...

And they reached the point of no return.


	5. Chapter 5

"Malfoy..." said Hermione.

They were lying in his bed, protected from the cold of the outside world by a thick duvet and Malfoy's green blankets. There was snow visible on the other side of the window, grey specks falling from a white sky, some brushing against the glass for a moment before being swept away. Hermione had been watching them with almost hypnotic fascination for a long while, her usual rush of thoughts momentarily stilled by the regular heartbeat she could feel against her back. But she couldn't let it last. "What do we do now?" she said, still watching the snow.

"I don't know." Malfoy's heartbeat quickened ever so slightly. "What do you want to do?"

"I want to save the world and have it be easy for once." Hermione pursed her lips, collecting her thoughts. "Bringing somebody's soul back to possess another's body has never been done successfully," she told him.

"I think we can say pretty conclusively that that's not going to keep them from trying," Malfoy said. "Besides, it's bad enough even if it doesn't work. I don't really fancy having the Dark Lord trying to get into my head." Hermione felt him shift behind her. "And quite aside from whatever might happen to me, I think the spell calls for the sacrifice of a dozen virgins or something."

"Thirteen, actually," Hermione corrected absently.

Malfoy's hand grabbed her shoulder and she suddenly found herself lying on her back, gazing up into his bemused face. "Now how did you know that?" he asked slowly.

Hermione looked him in the eye. "I've had enough people I cared about die to wonder if there wasn't something I could do about it."

"Still," Malfoy said, scrutinising her more closely than she was strictly comfortable with, "That's some pretty dark magic."

"I never considered i _doing_ /i it. It was just... Well, it was sort of comforting to know that it was theoretically possible." She sighed. "Anyway, we have to stop it."

Malfoy set his jaw. "Right." He sat up, letting a cold draught creep under the covers. Hermione shivered. "I'm going to get them to let me in on it," he declared, picking his clothes up off the floor. "One way or another. I'm not going to be used again." He gathered up her clothes as well and put them on the bed next to her. "Dinner's in half an hour. I'll ingratiate myself with Pansy and she'll get me in." He flashed Hermione a grin which was more than a little on the sinister side. "Maybe if they think I'm on their side they'll choose someone else to give to the Dark Lord."

Hermione grabbed her clothes and started to dress. "Yes. Well. I'll do some research in the meantime – there might be some way to sabotage it remotely."

"Without letting them sacrifice thirteen virgins? Good luck with that." Malfoy finished pulling on his trousers and leaned forward onto the bed, bringing his face level with hers. His chest was still glistening with a fine sheen of sweat. "You do know where they're going to get thirteen virgins, don't you Granger? From two floors down in the student dormitories. I reckon they'll take the youngest girls, just to be sure, and then they'll stage an 'accident'. Just like they did when they killed off the old headmaster and all the other teachers who weren't sympathetic to their motives."

Hermione looked at him, suddenly uneasy. "If that's what happened, why didn't they kill you?"

"That's a very good question," said Malfoy, still looking her straight in the eye in a way which was more than a little unnerving. "I can only surmise that it was because I have intentionally shown a complete disinterest in any kind of politics ever since I got here."

Malfoy leaned forward further and climbed back onto the bed to sit next to her, and her unease began to evaporate again when she felt the warmth radiating from his body.

"I've tried quite hard to be invisible, really," Malfoy continued. "That's the whole reason I came here. Back in England everyone knew who I was. Everyone thought I was a traitor or a coward, no matter what side they were on. They were probably right, really... But people would spit at me in the street or refuse to serve me if I went to Diagon Alley. I couldn't go anywhere without someone reminding me of everything I'd done wrong. Here... no one seems to care." He shrugged. "At least, they didn't until recently."

"That's..." Hermione looked at him. "I'm not sure if that's sad, or fair, or both."

"Doesn't really matter, does it? It_ is_, that's all."

He was looking right at her, but she couldn't read his expression. She wondered what he expected her to say. What he _wanted_ her to say.

In the end she settled for, "Are you sure you can get them to trust you?"

Malfoy grinned. "Of course. I made the Death Eaters trust me for long enough, didn't I?" His tone grew more serious. "I know them inside and out. I know what to say, I know how to act to make them believe I'm one of them, through and through."

And he grinned again, another of those grins which was anything but innocent. "I'll make them believe I am my father's son."

The main hall was full of students by the time Hermione and Malfoy got downstairs, though some of the teachers weren't at the table yet. Hermione had a moment of panic when Malfoy sat down next to Pansy Parkinson – what if she had somehow found out that they were the ones evesdropping only a few hours ago? – but Pansy turned her attention away from Malfoy almost immediately, choosing instead to watch Headmaster Graf enter the hall from a side door, accompanied by someone Hermione didn't –

Hang on.

"Weasley?" uttered Malfoy in astonishment.

It was Ron.

Graf led him up to the table. "Everyone," he said, "I would like to introduce you to Mr Weasley, who is visiting our humble establishment in order to conduct market research for his joke shop." He said the words _joke shop_ with such a straight face that Hermione was sure he must have practised beforehand – after all, he couldn't seriously be endorsing Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, could he?

"Of course," the headmaster continued, "I believe Mr Weasley is known to some of you already." He smiled pleasantly and sat down, leaving Ron to take the seat directly opposite Hermione.

"Hello," she said, looking at him levelly.

"Hi," he replied.

There was a long silence, and Hermione felt the eyes of everyone at the table watching them.

"How are you?" she said eventually.

"All right. You?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"Oh. Good."

Fortunately they were saved from further conversation by the arrival of the food, which Ron devoured with typical Weasley vigour. Hermione glanced down the table at Malfoy, who was enjoying his meal with his usual perfect table manners. Sitting so close to them both, Hermione suddenly felt uncomfortable.

_I've just had sex with Draco Malfoy_, she thought, and couldn't help a blush as she watched Ron's hands wield his cutlery like vicious weapons. _Oh my God, I've just had sex with Draco Malfoy..._

Somehow it hadn't properly hit her in the hour or so since it had happened, but now the huge fact of _sex with Draco Malfoy_ was rearing its head in her mind and it was all she could do to try to act normally.

She felt guilty, she realised as she watched Ron eat, oblivious to her gaze. But why should she feel guilty? They were both consenting adults, she hadn't even _seen_ Ron for months, let alone... and Malfoy didn't have any other attachments that she knew of... so why the guilt?

_You know why_, said the little red-headed voice in her mind.

_I can't take all this_, Hermione decided.

"Excuse me," she said politely, and left the table.

Once she was out of the hall she ran towards the double doors which led outside, suddenly desperate for fresh air even if it was freezing cold.

Her breath hung in the air in front of her as she stepped out into the deserted courtyard. She leaned against the wall and looked up at the night sky, trying to slow the whirlwind of thoughts and emotions going through her head.

_Right_, she thought to herself firmly. _What am I sure of?_

_You had sex with Draco Malfoy_, supplied an inner voice helpfully.

_Well, yes. I'd have to be pretty confused not to be sure of _that_. What else?_

Her inner voice shrugged. Hermione sighed.

_You know what_, she thought. _I don't have time to think about this. I've got more important things to do. A resurrection to stop, that kind of thing._

A snowball hit her in the arm.

Hermione turned to find Ron standing by the doorway a few yards away, looking sheepish.

"Um. Hi," he said.

A thousand things to say rushed through her head. She shot them down one by one, until only the most burning question remained.

"Ron," Hermione said helplessly, "What are you _doing_ here?"

Ron looked vaguely affronted by this. "I was invited," he said. Then he grinned. "I was quite pleased, actually, after the Salem Witches' Institute banned me, my products and all my relatives from their school for the next hundred years. I got about a thousand new customers there though, and more after the ban. I think my work there is done. So now I'm here. Pastures new, and all that."

"You were _invited_?" Hermione said incredulously.

"Yep," Ron replied proudly. "By the headmaster himself."

"But why would he...?"

"Well, he heard about our success in America, obviously."

"But that doesn't make any sense, Ron!"

Ron's complexion darkened. "You just don't want to believe that I'm doing this well without you."

"What?! Ron, that's not it at all! Listen—"

"What possessed you to come all the way out here, anyway? Were you that desperate to get away from me?"

"Ron! You went to America, remember?"

"You said you wanted time alone!"

"That's not what I meant!"

"Will you two shut up?" Malfoy appeared behind Ron, shaking his head at them. "Everyone can hear you, and we don't all want to be part of your issues, thank you very much."

_I think you're part of our issues now whether you like it or not, Malfoy_, Hermione thought.

"It's none of your business, Malfoy," Ron growled. "Piss off."

Malfoy shrugged. "Fine. But for Merlin's sake stop shouting. You'll distract the students from their homework." And he sauntered off, heading for the stairs.

Hermione sighed. "He's right. Let's... be civil, shall we?"

"_Malfoy_ is _right_?" Ron shook his head. "Fine. I give up. Whatever." And he too walked off, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts again.

This was... this was...

She couldn't think about this right now, she told herself firmly. She had lives to save.

Pushing all other thoughts from her mind, she headed for the library.

Durmstrang's collection of books was rather smaller than Hogwarts', but fortunately for Hermione – though perhaps unfortunately in general – it contained a considerable number of volumes on the Dark Arts. Hopefully at least one of them would be beneficial to her current task of stopping Voldemort's resurrection. She nodded pleasantly at the librarian as she checked out the four books which looked most relevant, and went up to her room to peruse them. She spread them out on her bed and began to read.

They did not contain the helpful information she was hoping for.

"_Once the sacred items have been appropriately arranged,"_ she read, "_the resurrection can only be stopped by the death of the intended vessel. Interference with any other aspect of the spell at this point will merely cause the soul to become confused within the vessel, resulting in the newly merged entity becoming comatose, violent or otherwise mentally unbalanced."_

_...And then there's the possibility that you might have to kill__ them anyway,_ Hermione thought grimly. Voldemort was already violent and mentally unbalanced – it was hard to say whether any difference would even be noticeable.

There was a knock at the door.

_Probably Ron, _Hermione thought, sighing. She really didn't want to deal with him right now... "Come in," she called, closing the book.

Malfoy poked his head around the door. "Found anything yet?"

Hermione managed a weak smile. "Nothing terribly encouraging, I'm afraid. How are your efforts going?"

Malfoy grinned and strode over to join her on the bed. "Swimmingly, actually. I'm being initiated into the 'Brotherhood of the Lord of Death' tonight."

"Is that what they're calling themselves?"

"Inspirational, isn't it?"

"How did you get them to take you in so quickly?"

Malfoy cleared his throat, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "I told Pansy that I'd loved you and left you."

"You... you _what_?"

"Well, she doesn't like you, Granger. Therefore doing something horrible to you automatically puts me in her good books."

"Yes but... _that_?"

Malfoy shrugged. "The best lies are always the ones closest to the truth. Anyway, you've got Weasley back now. I'm sure he can comfort you."

Hermione pondered the meaning of that last sentence. "Malfoy," she said eventually, "We slept together. What are we going to... _do_ about that?"

Malfoy looked at her; one of his long, scrutinising looks which made Hermione uncomfortable, as if he was trying to see into her mind. "I don't know," he said simply. "I suppose that's up to you."

Hermione struggled to find a response to this, and before she could open her mouth to speak Malfoy continued, "I'm actually starting to like you, Granger, probably more than I should. More than my mother would approve of, certainly."

Hermione swallowed. "I... sort of like you too, Malfoy. Against all reason and better judgement."

Malfoy inched along the bed until the edges of their thighs were just touching. "What about Weasley?" he said quietly.

She looked up into his probing, serious eyes and realised that only an honest answer would do. "I... don't know," she admitted.

Malfoy nodded. "All right." He looked away, biting his lip, then stood. "I'll let you know what I find out at this initiation thing," he said, heading for the door.

"Malfoy, wait." Hermione stood as well, walking across the room until they were face to face. She raised her hand and cupped his chin lightly with the tips of her fingers, offering him a small smile. Gently, she pressed her lips to his.

"Be careful," she said when she pulled away. She didn't let him go until he nodded.

After he had left, Hermione curled up on the bed with her books, leafing through first one, then another, trying in vain to find something even vaguely useful.

Barely five minutes later Malfoy burst back into the room, wild-eyed and out of breath. "Weasley," he panted, staggering forward. "They're using Weasley as their vessel... and they're doing the spell..." he tried to continue, but he had run out of breath and had to take several large gulps of air before he carried on, "They're doing the spell right _now!_"


	6. Chapter 6

Hermione ran headlong down the stairs, not caring if she fell and broke her skull as long as she could get to Ron...

Malfoy was hot on her heels, working hard to keep up and keep his breath at the same time. They hurtled down through the sleeping castle, across the frozen courtyard and then down again into the underground cavern she and Malfoy had visited earlier that evening – and right into the grasp of a pair of guards.

A small crowd of wizards and witches turned to look at the two intruders struggling fruitlessly against their captors. Hermione was horrified to see that thirteen young girls were lined up on the far side of the cavern, their hands tied, eyes wide with fear. Most of them were in their pyjamas and dressing gowns.

"Hermione!"

Ron was lying on the floor in a corner, his hands and feet tied and Pansy Parkinson standing over him. His wrists were raw from his attempts to pull them apart.

"Ron," said Hermione helplessly.

"Ah, Miss Granger." Headmaster Graf's voice echoed across the chamber as he strode towards them. "And Mr Malfoy too, well well..." He stepped closer and eyed them both, grinning. "It would appear, Miss Parkinson," he said, "that I was right." He moved towards Malfoy until only a few inches separated them. Graf's eyes didn't leave Draco's face as he said, "Miss Parkinson here, Malfoy, was convinced that you actually had decided to dedicate yourself once more to the Dark Lord's cause. I, however, was sceptical – justly, I now see – which is why I agreed to let her bring you down here tonight. As soon as you saw Weasley here you ran off to tell your girlfriend, just as I expected." Graf bared his teeth and grinned. "You are truly pathetic, Draco Malfoy. Your parents should be ashamed." Smiling almost beatifically, Graf turned to Ron. "Quite the love triangle we have here, isn't it, Weasley?"

"Love... what?" Ron looked at Hermione, forgetting his attempt to escape in his confusion.

Hermione looked back, trying to apologise for the whole mess with her eyes.

"You know," said Graf to Ron, "I was almost afraid she wouldn't come for you, she's been so attached to young Malfoy lately." He looked back at Hermione. "But I suppose her proud Gryffindor heart couldn't resist trying to save the day." Graf waved at the wizards holding her and Malfoy. "All right, restrain them properly and let's get on with it, shall we?"

Hermione had only a moment of freedom before finding herself bound tightly by ropes conjured from one of her captors' wands. She toppled backwards, and Malfoy landed next to her with a grunt. "What do we do i _now_ /i " he hissed.

"We have to stop them before they get all the objects in place," Hermione whispered, trying to ignore the pain her fall had caused.

"What objects?"

"There are things they have to arrange in a certain way before they can start – carry them clockwise around one another and place them facing east or west, for example." Hermione turned her head to the people now weaving their way around the cavern, carrying and assortment of rare stones, leaves and other magical objects. "Once they're all in place there's nothing we can do."

i _Except kill Ron_ /i said an inner voice.

i _Shut up_ /i , thought Hermione. i _That's not going to happen_ /i 

"I'm not sure there's anything we can do i _now_ /i ," Malfoy said.

"There is. My wand's still in my pocket. If you can reach it..."

Hermione shuffled around on the floor, trying to bring her pocket within reach of one of Malfoy's hands. He stretched his fingers towards her, trying to get past the ropes around her waist enough to pull the wand out from between them.

"Keep i _still_ /i ," he muttered, fiddling with her bonds.

"Sorry."

"Right. I think... there, I've got it. Roll away, I can't pull it out far enough."

Hermione obliged, and Malfoy let out a laugh of triumph – and then dropped the wand. It rolled away.

"Dammit!" he cried, shuffling across the floor to try to recapture it.

Hermione looked around. "Quick," she told him, "I think Pansy's noticed what we're up to..."

Pansy was indeed watching them, and she began to walk in their direction, reaching for her wand...

" i _Petrificus Totalus_ /i " Malfoy cried, rolling onto his back with the wand clutched precariously between his fingers. Pansy froze and fell to the ground, a singularly annoyed expression on her face. " i _Relashio!_ /i " Malfoy said, and Hermione found herself free of her bonds, then " i _Descendo_ /i " as he pointed the wand up towards the ceiling, and then, "Now get me out of these ropes, please," as a low rumbling started above them and rubble began to rain down on them.

Hermione grabbed her wand from his outstretched fingers. The floor was starting to shake. " i _Relashio!_ i " she cried, and then, helping him to his feet, "Did you have to do that? The whole cavern's going to cave in!"

"That was the idea." Malfoy drew his own wand and looked around. "Right. You get Weasley, I'll get the girls, and hopefully we'll be out before the place collapses.

"Hopefully," Hermione muttered. "Great." She gripped her own wand and used her other hand to squeeze Malfoy's arm. "Right," she said. Then she ran for Ron.

He was still lying on the floor a few yards away, momentarily abandoned by the panicking wizards and witches. He was tied with normal ropes and was struggling to stand up from where he had managed to pull himself into a sitting position. Hermione knelt down beside him and used her wand to cut him free.

"Thanks," he said.

Hermione nodded weakly in reply, taking in his flushed face, freckles standing out against skin which had turned a red bright enough to rival his hair, his blue eyes looking out at her from under his messy fringe...

"That's all right," she said.

Ron reached out to cup her chin, lowering her mouth to his...

"Well, well, Miss Granger," Headmaster Graf's voice came from behind her. "Well done. I can see I underestimated you. I had intended to make you sit – or lie, haha – idly by and watch your worst nightmare come true, but it appears you were too clever for that. Such a pity. Terror is so becoming on a young girl's face." Graf's expression twisted into a bizarre, satisfied grimace. "Oh well. Death can be quite becoming, too." He raised his wand.

"Don't you dare," said Ron, stepping in front of her.

"Oh," said Graf. "How dashingly heroic. I must admit I can see the appeal of you over Malfoy, Weasley." He chuckled. "I suppose I wouldn't have chosen you to be the Dark Lord's vessel otherwise, eh? But I'm afraid that doesn't mean I don't want to kill you." He drew back his wand hand.

" i Avada Kedavra! i "

Graf twitched, then dropped to the ground to reveal Malfoy standing behind him with his wand outstretched.

"You could have done that yourself, you know," he complained.

Hermione regarded him for a long moment. "No," she said pensively. "No, I couldn't." If she looked closely enough she could just see that he was shaking...

Malfoy lowered his wand and opened his mouth as if to say something – but at that moment there was a loud crash as large pieces of the cavern ceiling fell down all around them

"Come on!" Malfoy shouted instead, running for the staircase.

Hermione grabbed Ron's hand and pulled him after her in pursuit. "Did you get the girls out?" she shouted at Malfoy, dodging a falling chunk of rock.

"Yes!" Malfoy replied, "They should be halfway up the stairs by now!"

A group of witches and wizards hurrying up the steps in front of them turned around at the sound of their voices and one of them pointed his wand at them, but two others grabbed him and pulled him away. They all continued to run up the steep stone steps, which were growing more treacherous by the second as they were covered in rubble.

Then one of the wizards in front of them tripped and his companions fell on top of him, blocking the stairway.

"Now what?" Hermione said helplessly as they were forced to halt.

Malfoy pointed his wand at the pile of struggling wizards. " i Petrificus Totalus! /i " he cried, and they all froze in place. "Come on," he said, pocketing his wand. "We'll climb over them."

Hermione followed him hesitantly, but Ron helped her to climb up and it was less difficult to get over to the other side than she had anticipated. The ceiling continued to rumble above her as she climbed over the mass of solid limbs, but she made it across without incident. Malfoy was already running up the steps in front of them, but Ron took Hermione's wand from her hand and turned back.

" i Finite Incantatem /i ," he said, freeing the pile of wizards – to a degree, at least. He handed the wand back to Hermione. And then a large rock fell on his head, knocking him to the ground.

"Ron!" Hermione cried, falling to her knees beside him. He was unconscious, he was bleeding, it looked bad, bad, bad...

Malfoy was suddenly back at her side, pushing past her to check Ron's pulse, his breathing... i _I should've done that_ /i , Hermione thought guiltily.

"He's alive," Malfoy said briskly, heaving Ron upright and starting to carry him across his shoulders to the top of the stairs. More large pieces of rock fell around them, and then the whole staircase shook. "Come i _on_ /i ," Malfoy yelled at Hermione's sudden hesitation, and she made herself shake off the shock and follow him up and into the cold, snow-filled air.

Malfoy put Ron down on the ground in the courtyard and Hermione knelt beside him, checking him over again, looking more closely at the gaping wound in his head.

"I need to get him to a hospital," she declared. She looked up at Malfoy. "Can you handle things here?"

He seemed to hesitate for a split second before he nodded.

"Yes," he said. "Go on."

She didn't need telling twice.

Ron was okay, thankfully, and after flooing Ginny and George – and letting i _them_ /i contact Mrs Weasley – Hermione found herself feeling a little awkward a few hours later when the entire Weasley family descended onto the hospital like flies. They were all nice and polite, but they all also obviously knew about her and Ron's break-up. Mrs Weasley was _over_polite; i _Take my son back!_ /i her friendly smile seemed to scream.

Hermione still wasn't at all sure what she wanted to do.

i _I should go back to Durmstrang_ /i she thought. i _Now that Ron is okay. It must be chaos there – I hope Malfoy is coping with it all._

_But what will Ron think if he wakes up and you're not here_? /i said Hermione's red-headed voice.

i _He'll probably want his new, 'more comfortable' girlfriend, not me._

_Oh, come on. Ginny just told you he'd made her up. She never existed.__ He was just trying to make you jealous_ /i The voice looked at her pointedly.

i _Fine, fine. But still... I have to talk to Malfoy before I decide what to do._

_You mean you don't know?_ /i The voice sounded incredulous.

i _No_ /i Hermione thought back. i _No, I really don't_ /i 

Dawn was starting to break when Hermione arrived back at Durmstrang. She walked into the courtyard to find it empty, though there was still a trail of blood where Malfoy had carried Ron across the snow.

Since there was no one around to ask what had happened after she had left, Hermione made her way upstairs to see if Malfoy was in his room. She met nobody on the stairs, and when she knocked on his door there was no answer.

Perhaps he's asleep, she thought. After a moment's hesitation she tried the door and found it open. She stepped inside.

The room was empty.

Not just empty of Draco Malfoy, empty of all his possessions, too. His green sheets were gone, the piles of robes slung over the back of his armchair were gone. The photograph on top of the chest of drawers had gone.

i _He's left_ /i , said a new, blond voice in Hermione's head. i _He saw how you were acting about Ron and now he's left._ /i 

"No," Hermione muttered aloud. "No, he can't have done..."

She went back out and into her own room, shaking her head, and sat down on the bed to try and order her thoughts. Something crackled underneath her. She moved to find that she had been sitting on a folded piece of paper. There was writing on it:

i _Dear Granger_ /i , it read,

i _Thank you._

_A__ll the best,_

_Draco Malfoy_ /i 

And that was it.


	7. Epilogue

The bride and groom took to the floor for their first dance as husband and wife. They were both talented dancers, and their guests watched appreciatively as they twirled majestically around the dance floor, focussed entirely on each other and yet never missing a step...

Hermione stood among the watchers, finishing her glass of champagne. A gentle tap on her arm made her look up.

"Refill?" asked Malfoy, offering her a fresh glass.

Hermione smiled. "Thank you."

They stood together for a while, watching the dancers.

Eventually Malfoy broke the silence. "That could've been us, you know."

It took Hermione a moment to respond. "If it had been us," she pointed out, watching her daughter dance with Malfoy's son, "it couldn't have been them."

"Hmm."

There was another long silence as they both pondered the past and whether or not they regretted the choices they had made.

"Do you ever wonder what it would have been like?" Malfoy said. "If we had done things differently?"

Hermione smiled. "Once in a while."

He looked down at her for a moment, then turned away. "I suppose we'll never know."

She patted him on the arm. "It's probably best that way."

"Yes. Probably."

Other dancers were joining the bridal couple on the floor now. Malfoy turned to look at Hermione again. "Would you care to dance, Mrs Weasley?" he asked, venturing a smile.

Hermione smiled back. "Yes," she said. "Yes, I think I would."

**The End**


End file.
